You make me sick because I adore you so
by Ninjabelle
Summary: "Yes. I use you. But you want it that way, and I can't give this to you any other way." You pause for a moment and I feel my throat tighten. You're right. I want it just this way, I'm probably sick. --Psychoshipping One-shot. Yaoi and kinda BDSM.


A/N

I had to write something. I'm back on my old computer, and my old keyboard and I'm loving it.  
So this turned out to be another M rated psychoshipping one-shot. Do not worry though, it's different from the rest.  
The title of this fic is actually from a Muse lyrics, I listened to that song while writing this although I'm usually not a big Muse fan... it's strange how inspiration works isn't it?

Anyway, for warnings, this is M because it's psychoshipping and because I wrote it, that should tell you enough already. Also, it's kinda... dark-ish. But if you like all that BDSM stuff floating around fanfiction I'm sure you'll like this too. Nothing too graphic and horrible, but enough for me to warn you for incase you're more into 'sweet love making'.

That's it,

Enjoy.

--OH. DISCLAIMER: I totally do not own YuGiOh, nor the Muse awesomeness that is the title of this fic. But you know that, so fuck off.

* * *

Why do we do this? God please I can't breathe... but I need you to go on. And it hurts, it hurts so badly but I want it and I let you again and again and again.

I feel like I'll explode if I don't scream right now, but I can't make a single sound. It's like I freeze the moment you push me down and from there on I can't do anything but go through everything you make me experience. But it hurts, your nails, your teeth. The knife.

My blood drips slowly, and the cut isn't deep but it scares me to leave my life in your hands. It's not safe, and I'm not safe and you are dangerous. You love those scars on me, you say. Love to see tears well up in my eyes as you trace the knife over my ribs, my heart... and I know that somewhere you just want to plunge it down deep into my chest. Bathe yourself in my blood.

Because you're insane.

You don't make a sound as you pound into me, so hard I want to tell you to stop, but I can't. The screaming of guitars coming out of the speakers of my old radio would drown out any sound anyway. It's useless. And you're so strong, despite what your frame might suggest. I see every muscle in your pale arms tightening as you push my wrists above my head, pinning them there with one hand before your other finds the knife again, this time to trace it over my lower lip, as if daring me to make a sound so you can cut me. I believe that I'm scared but other than the rushing of blood through my head and the pounding of my heart in my throat I am numb. Your puppet, your doll. You refer to me as that sometimes so I've gotten used to seeing myself that way. I do as you desire, I submit to your demands and you can do as you please with my body, I'm likely to never complain, object or protest, for I believe I want this, very much even.

I don't know when this started, when I started to feel an urge to be submissive, to want to find someone to be horribly violent and harsh with me just so that I could feel something once again.

But you... maybe it was wrong for me to desire you of all people, because you are beyond bad for my health. You'll kill me one day, I'm sure of this. But you told me you'd be damned if anyone other than you ever had the twisted pleasure of feeling my body with their hands.

I've also learned you are possessive, insanely so. You believe that you actually make me yours a little more with every mark you leave on my body. Therefore I feel sick looking at myself in the mirror, because within the reflection indeed only lays Mariku the doll. Mariku the puppet. Mariku the slave to Bakura's every desire. And I let you, every time you come by. It's become our routine, a twisted game we play and I'll never tell you to stop. I have no voice when you're around me.

It starts with a kick to my door, and no matter what I'm doing at that moment I discard it and turn up the radio before unlocking my door. From that moment on, from the second your eyes meet mine I change. I can't explain, it's like I switch into what you need me to be at that time. I let you back me up against a wall, let your hands roam my body, your thin fingers undo my belt and your long nails hurt my skin. I'll moan for you, gasp as you roughly push me down on whatever surface you desire to fuck me that day and I let you. All control completely abandoned. And I'll enjoy it, that painful feeling of having you inside of me, close to me, maybe I've just been too alone for too many years.

But you're there, and as painful and horrible as it is I feel again.

I remember the first time we did this, the knife and the blood and the pain had already been there that first time. But this feeling of wanting to escape had not. God it felt so good to feel how much you wanted me that night, how much our bodies clashed when they were pushed flush together. I'd say I even loved the sound of your breathing in my neck as we came close to what was going to be the most amazing orgasm of my life. But most of all I remember the disappointment and hurt and uneasiness when you, as soon as we were done, moved to your boots, and your old leather jacket. I did that once, asked you why you were leaving, and if you couldn't stay.

You smirked, and you left.

I never want to see that look on your face ever again. I hated you for leaving me on that mattress so carelessly. I figured it was just a one time thing, and that I should let it go.

But you kept on coming, not every night, and sometimes you stay away for weeks but you keep coming, and you are more dangerous every single time.

The knife goes deeper, your touches are harsher and the blood drips faster and faster. I feel like I'll suffocate, you're killing me. I... can't... breathe.

When I open my eyes again you're leaning over me, the knife is forgotten and for one small moment I daresay I see a bit of concern in your dark eyes, but then you narrow them, start moving again and I'm just as lost as I was before.

When we're both done you move again, and I curl up on my side, facing the wall. This strange feeling of being dirty seems to creep up on me more than it used to, and after you leave it only gets worse. You use me.

"...you use me."

I hadn't even noticed I said that out loud until I feel your eyes on my back. I turn to face you and your eyebrow is raised suspiciously. For a short moment I wonder if you're going to grab your knife and finish this bad game once and for all but then you look away and respond, something I thought you'd never do.

"Yes. I use you. But you want it that way, and I can't give this to you any other way."

You pause for a moment and I feel my throat tighten. You're right. I want it just this way, I'm probably sick.

"...this is what we do. All that we are and all we'll ever be. But it's what you want, so it's okay right?"

I close my eyes. You don't want me to answer that. You are not interested in any of my thoughts. My body is all that interests you, and what you do with it is all that interests me. We make a good pair if you look at only those things.

I open my eyes again just to see yours one final moment before you slip through the door and I'm left alone with my dark thoughts about our destructive relationship.

But I want it, and you that way. So it's okay.

Even if it ends up killing me, at least I've had someone to feel.

* * *

A/N

How was that?

It's just something I thought I'd never write, but it turned out okay even though it's kinda short.

/Bla bla/ Honestly I have nothing more to say except, PLEASE REVIEW. I love reviews. I'll love you if you review.

PLEASE MAKE ME LOVE YOU.


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